Lucky Stars
by Judime328
Summary: Being a skinwalker isn't all it's cracked up to be. As Lucky strives to forget his life as part of Mandy and Aidan's family, he feels torn between living as a man and a dog. When he moves from Buffalo to New York to leave his past behind Lucky finds more than he bargained for and new troubles to keep him occupied. Based on episode 6.08 (All Dogs go to Heaven) of Supernatural.
1. Chapter 1

Stink rose from the open road like steam curling away from the rim of a cup of morning sludge coffee. Heat from the asphalt lingered, dangerously unassuming; twinkling merrily in a mirage. A great German shepherd dog loped down the street, tail dragging and tongue lolling from his toothy mouth. No nametag hung from his neck and no one would have known that the shepherd was anything other than a stray. The dog's fur was matted with dust and blood, and he looked about as mangy as any dog could get. If the dog still had his tags, he would have worn them proudly, puffing out his chest and reflecting the light off the carved metal letters that would have spelled his name: LUCKY.

Lucky's shoulder still hurt from where Jax shot him with the silver bullet. The betrayal and anger he had felt at the time drained out of him as quickly as the blood from the wound. Now it was as stale as the dried gore matting his fur.

Lucky had known that going back to Mandy and Aidan's was a long shot. He remembered the look on Mandy's face and shuddered. The heavy heat did nothing to stop the cold that flooded Lucky's body like a wave when he thought of what he had done. Mandy's rejection was well deserved. Living with the mother and her son was a beautiful dream for him, but he could only imagine what nightmares she would have from now on.

There was nowhere he could go but back on the street, like the stray he always was. This time though, he was armed with the benefit of a permanently warm coat of fur. Not to mention an extremely tough stomach and receding human dignity, which would allow him to eat anything off the street, with the exception, of course, of the people walking on the street.

There was a hunger in Lucky's stomach that could hardly be filled by someone's discarded curbside McDonald's meal. It was deep and black; a cavernous void, that could only be assuaged by the consumption of the human heart. Lucky knew what he was. Mandy hadn't called him a psycho for nothing. But he decided, when he gathered up what was left of his fleeting courage to walk to her door for the last time, that he would never kill a human again.

The yearning gap in his gullet would never be filled, and hunger would always laugh at his pitiful attempts to slake it with normal nourishment. Lucky knew the constant pain in his side would be a welcome companion reminding him of what he had decided to be. A skinwalker.

The hunter brothers had conveniently wiped out the rest of the high level skinwalkers. The lower level 'sleeper cells' like himself probably didn't know any of this was going on.

Come to think of it the brothers had almost killed him too. The big one (Sam was his name, maybe?) almost shot him. Lucky's claws clicked on the concrete and he contemplated that escaping with his life, may not have been the best course of action after all.

At least he didn't have to worry about anyone anymore. Just himself. He'd just leave the past behind him, like he'd always done before. Who cares about the past of a mangy mutt anyways?

'Lucky', was not his real name. Obviously. But he liked the name, if only for it's irony. He missed his tags. The weight of them around his neck and the constant jingling. He missed what they meant. That he was owned and had a home.

Lucky scoffed as he realized how messed up it was for him to be thinking of himself in terms of ownership. But the thought was comforting in a way. If he ever did have a family again, it would be so much easier to live as a pet. Not because he didn't want to find his own food, or live by his own instincts, but because, "Good boy, Lucky!" or "No, bad dog!" was so satisfyingly simple.

The tarmac under Lucky's paws bit into his pads and he winced, flattening his ears against his head. He could feel his nails shortening against the long black file road. Where to go? Eagle St. was a spilt decision, but out of town would definitely be better in the long run. Lucky started to make a beeline to the Downtown Terminal before he remembered that he couldn't actually ride the bus. Seeing as he was a dog and all that.

The sounds of traffic became louder as rush hour closed in. Time to high tail it to anywhere other than the road. Lucky hopped up on the sidewalk next to a woman walking in inconveniently high heels and he wondered if her feet were in more pain than his at the moment. He could smell her perfume. He could smell what she ate for lunch (a chicken burrito with extra guacamole), and that she had sex three nights ago, but not with her husband. Lucky's tail brushed her spray-on tan calves and she finally noticed that there was a huge German shepherd walking unleashed next to her. Immediately the scent of fear engulfed him, which was followed closely by a shriek. He stopped and looked up incredulously at her. The stupid woman threw her cell phone at him. It bounced painfully off the bridge of his muzzle.

He almost felt bad for her and he was going to let it go, but when she started yelling obscenities at him, he pulled back his lips and snarled half-heartedly in her direction. She instantly shrieked louder and ran away at top speed in her four-inch heels. Shaking his head, Lucky turned the corner onto Church Street. He could hear the confused voice of the person on the other end of the cell phone receding behind him as he headed towards the one place he might be able to find some clothes without feeling too guilty about their origins. St. Joseph's Cathedral.

St. Joe's. That was what he'd called it back in the day. When he was a stray human and not a stray dog. The people there were fair. Catholicism was never for him, but he was always welcome, ever since he came to Buffalo four years ago. He hoped that Fr. Bob was still around. You would never believe such a loud voice could come out of such a skinny little man. He might be the smallest, kindest man to walk God's green earth, but Fr. Bob was no pushover. Lucky could recall, with vivid detail every time he had earned the man's wrath (for good reasons too). He actually remembered being thrown out once. Literally. And the man was half his size. Lucky had asked Fr. Bob about it, but all he would say was, "With great love comes great strength!" which was frustrating, to say the least.

To tell you the truth, the only thing that Lucky could remember about St. Joe's that was bad at all, was the location. It sat, tall and proud steeple, right smack-dab behind the police station.


	2. Chapter 2

Not that Lucky was a wanted man, well…at least, not before the whole eating peoples' hearts thing. But he had become rather familiar with the insides of those cells after a rather desperate stint of public intoxication arrests. That was not a good time in his life. And after the officers know you by your first name, you tend to steer clear. There were some decent guys working in the BPD, but those weren't the guys Lucky had been trying to avoid.

So naturally, Lucky hadn't seen Fr. Bob in over two years, but it was worth a try. He stopped on the curb and looked through the traffic to the police station across the street. St. Joe's steeple tip rose above the brick building. Carefully looking both ways across the street through the parked cars and waiting for a break in the traffic, Lucky bounded across the one-way road in a dash. He was pretty sure some sadist in a blue sports car actually sped up to try and hit him. Lucky hated rush hour.

Now that he was across the street, Lucky skirted the edge of the Police Headquarters and slipped down Franklin St. towards the Cathedral. He was jumpy, having avoided this part of town for nearly two years, so when a couple of cops burst out of the side door entrance just as he was walking by, he overreacted a bit. His hackles raised as he jumped back barking. His ears flattened, belly low to the ground, tail curled up beneath him. One of the cops, the younger one, dropped his coffee. More like, threw it, all over Lucky's face.

"Holy shit!" The cop fell back against the door, flinching as Lucky snarled reflexively at the scalding cup of joe. Lucky's eyes felt like they were melting off, his nose was filled with the steaming liquid, espresso power housing through his delicate sense of smell and ripping it to ribbons. A deep, keening whine escaped his chest and he stumbled back in pain.

"Back up real slow, Carson," The other officer said.

"Ah, shit, Lewis, look at my shirt! It's ruined!" The younger man stated as he vainly inspected a growing coffee stain.

"Shut up and back up, Carson!"

The young one, Carson, snapped out of his self-pity and once again realized he was in a potentially dangerous situation. Lucky growled and Carson side-stepped behind his partner apprehensively.

The older officer managed to hold onto his coffee and simultaneously pull out a baton as some sort of defensive weapon. Fat lot of good it would do, if Lucky decided to attack, but all Lucky wanted was to get to the Church. It was literally yards away.

Baring his teeth, Lucky crept forward, stomach scraping the sidewalk. The officers backed slowly into the overhanging entranceway, neither they nor he taking eyes off one another. As soon as Lucky thought he was far enough away, he turned tail and flat out ran to the Cathedral, bounding round the brick walls and into the archway leading to the side set of double doors.

Lucky panted and sat in the shade, tongue lolling. That was one of the problems with being a dog. Controlling your tongue takes far more work than you should ever have to deal with. He glanced back around the brick to see if the pair of cops were pursuing him, but as he watched the younger of the two trying unsuccessfully to unbutton his coffee soiled shirt, Lucky realized that he was much more offensive to the police as a human, rather than a dog.

Now, about the doors. Heavy as lead and with pull handles instead of push, they really presented a problem to those who were not blessed with opposable thumbs. If worse came to worst, he supposed he could slip back into his human skin, but that might cause a scene. Showing up naked in the middle of the city road was something that he was trying to avoid, believe it or not.

Lucky sniffed around the edges of the door, he smelled countless numbers of people who entered and exited multiple times. Everything was stale, and the freshest scent was old by at least three hours. Lucky slipped cautiously out onto the street again moving to the main entrance. He clambered up the stairs, pausing to look at the sign on the left:

MASSES

Saturdays: 4:30pm

Sundays: 8:00am and 10:00am

Mon-Fri: 7:30am and 12:05pm

Right. So today was Tuesday. That meant the last time anyone was here for sure was the 12:05 mass. Lucky bounded up the stairs the rest of the way and sniffed around the main entrance. St. Joe's was a tourists' church. There had to be someone who was here earlier. He caught whiffs of nicotine, trident gum, and gasoline; there were a pair of male twins who had visited earlier, no more than nine years old.

The scent of sunscreen wafted through his nose, stronger even than the coffee that seemed permanently lodged there. Someone was in the Cathedral this very moment. A young woman it seemed, who must have had very fragile skin, with the copious amount of protection she wore against the sun. All Lucky had to do now was wait for her to come out.

It didn't take long. Lucky just hadn't anticipated her exiting from another door. She came from the left side-door and when Lucky heard the click of the door he didn't really think before he leapt off the top of the stairs and towards the lower entrance. But he was reminded violently of his shot shoulder when he landed. He'd been abusing his wounded shoulder ever since he was shot, but landing full force on it, painfully reiterated that he not at full health.

A yelp and squeal burst from between his teeth as he tumbled into the feet of the young woman. She startled backwards squeaking in surprise. He tried to get up but his bad shoulder wouldn't allow it and he collapsed back onto the ground, struggling towards the door. The young woman gasped, a hand over her mouth and receded back into the Cathedral. Lucky scrabbled to put a paw in the door and immediately regretted it, yelping again as the wooden block nearly crushed his bones before he yanked his paw out of the way. The door shut with a low resonance boom and Lucky laid his head on the cool shaded sidewalk, trying not to think about how much his shoulder hurt.

Suddenly, the door opened again and Lucky heard the woman talking.

"Look! I told you, Father!" Lucky could smell another person and craned around his head to see whom it was.

"Yep. Alright. Thanks for telling me." Lucky would recognize that voice from anywhere. Fr. Bob.

"Let's bring him in then," He said.

"Ah, I really have to catch the next bus or I'll be late to that thing I have, but I didn't want to just leave him there. Sorry, Father!" And then she left, sunscreen smell and all.

"Looks like it's just you and me then," Fr. Bob said as he knelt down next to Lucky's head. He could feel Father's hand gently petting down the side of his neck. When Fr. Bob stopped stroking his fur, an involuntary whine slipped out of Lucky's throat. Fr. Bob chuckled.

"Well. You're a regular people lover, huh? Good boy."

As soon as Father's hand came too close to Lucky's mouth, he licked it.

"Alright, we'll get you inside," Fr. Bob stood and maneuvered himself around Lucky's back, picking him up from underneath.

As soon as they were in the church, Lucky squirmed. He knew he wouldn't be able to walk on his leg for long, but there was someplace he needed to be. Fr. Bob put him down and as soon as he was free, Lucky limped to the confessional. He crawled inside and waited. As soon as Fr. Bob came curiously to the door, Lucky barked. Father jumped.

"What? What's wrong?" he asked.

Lucky scratched at the wall in between the adjacent rooms and barked again. Fr. Bob finally got the message and walked into his side of the confessional closing the door behind him.

"Alright, you crazy dog, is this what you wanted?"

Lucky breathed a sigh of relief and closed his eyes thinking of his human body and groaned as his bones, muscles, organs, and skin shifted from one species to another.

Lucky got off the floor and closed the door to his side of the confessional before anyone could accidentally walk in and witness him in his birthday suit.

"Hello?" Fr. Bob asked cautiously. Lucky sat down on the floor again, wincing as he jarred his shoulder.

"I know it's been forever since the last time I was here, but just to clarify, you can't repeat anything I say to you in here, right?"


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as Lucky spoke he felt Father Bob grow still on the other side of the confessional wall. Silence stretched as thin as a rubber band while Lucky waited for a response. Just as he was ready to snap he heard Fr. Bob shift in his chair. It was a small move, perhaps he was relieving some aching muscles, but it was enough to release the tension in the tiny bisected room. Lucky took advantage of the opportunity.

"Father? I, uh, I know this is unexpected but I couldn't really think of anywhere else to go," Lucky said softly. He shifted from his spot on the floor attempting a more comfortable position. It was a large enough space for him in his dog form, but as a human it was cramped. His shoulder was bleeding sluggishly again and he pressed a hand to the wound, grunting in pain.

Suddenly, Lucky heard Fr. Bob move quickly. He was coming around to open the door of the confessional.

"Shit!" Lucky swore under his breath and lunged to grab the door handle. It swung away from him, opening to the preist.

"Holy Mother of God. Ivan Caleb," Fr. Bob said. He stared with his mouth open for about ten seconds before Lucky shifted uncomfortably. Fr. Bob shook himself.

"Good Lord, man. Let's see about getting you some clothes," he said before slamming the door to the confessional shut in Lucky's face.

Lucky sat dumbfounded, waiting until Fr. Bob returned. He heard Fr. Bob approaching and a pair of jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt flew through the door and hit him in the face.

"From the donation box," said Fr. Bob from outside the confessional. Lucky pulled on the clothes and stepped out.

"Long time, no see, Ivan," Fr. Bob said. He was leaning, slouched against the end of one of the pews in the cathedral. He didn't cut a very impressive figure; his plain black garb engulfing his diminutive frame and his round-rimmed glasses making him appear slightly bug-eyed. Even the priests' collar he wore served to make him look more like a turtle than a man. But Lucky knew Fr. Bob better than to underestimate him.

"I'm not called that anymore," Lucky said.

"Oh. What should I call you then?"

"…Lucky."

Fr. Bob looked up, surprised.

"Lucky?"

Fr. Bob's face curled into a mocking smile, as he looked at Lucky. "Well, it's certainly ironic. All right, Iva—Lucky. What's going on? And what happened to that dog from earlier?" Fr. Bob eyed Lucky's bad shoulder suspiciously.

"Are you going to tell anyone?" Lucky asked. Fr. Bob watched Lucky carefully.

"No. But you have a bullet wound, so after you leave I have to report it."

Lucky's lips pulled back in a pseudo snarl as he temporarily forgot which of his skins he was wearing.

"I said _after_ you leave. This church is still a sanctuary as long as I feel it's necessary," Fr. Bob said sternly, "Now. Tell me what's going on."

Lucky grimaced slightly.

"You wouldn't believe me, even if I did tell you."

Fr. Bob scoffed and shook his head.

"You know what I believe? I believe that God came to earth 3,000 years ago and died at age 33 so that when we eat His flesh and blood we're all saved from our sins and can go to heaven. Now, why don't you tell me what's going on, and I'll decide if it's believable or not."

Leave it to Fr. Bob to explain the eccentricities of the Catholic faith in one crazy sentence. Lucky nodded and tugged at the edge of the t-shirt self-consciously. The shirt was a bit too short, but the jeans fit nicely. Lucky's bare dirty toes curled as he looked away from Fr. Bob and towards the stained glass windows that lined the central isle of St. Joe's Cathedral.

"I…I'm not…I'm not human, anymore, Father."

Lucky waited for Fr. Bob to answer, but when none came, Lucky closed his eyes slowly inhaling the stale scent of incense.

"I know it sounds impossible, but there's a whole world out there that normal people don't even know about…" Lucky opened his eyes and turned to face Fr. Bob again, "The things from your nightmares exist…and I'm one of them."

Fr. Bob was still slouching against the pew, head bowed, hands folded. Lucky might have thought he was praying but, after a second, the priest's shoulders started shaking and a jovial laugh burst from his lips so loudly Lucky thought it was slightly disrespectful in the cathedral.

"I've had nightmares, Ivan, but dogs have never starred in them!" Fr. Bob's laugh echoed through the cathedral.

"What?" Lucky said, dumbfounded. Fr. Bob straightened and stepped forward, a smile on his face, stretching out his arm to grasp Lucky's shoulder.

"Demons are real, Ivan—"

"Lucky," Lucky corrected.

"Right," Fr. Bob nodded patiently, "Lucky. I'm a priest remember? I know that demons real, and I'm not sure that a German shepherd dog qualifies as part of their ranks."

"Wait! You know I'm the dog?" Lucky looked at Fr. Bob in a mixture of horror and awe.

"Good Lord in Heaven," Fr. Bob implored God exasperatedly, "Iv—Lucky," Fr. Bob said very slowly, as if talking to a very small child, "If a dog goes in and a man comes out, there can only be so many explanations."

Fr. Bob chuckled and clapped Lucky on his bad shoulder.

"Aahh!" Lucky hissed, flinching away.

"Oh, God damn! Sorry!" Fr. Bob said, quickly unhanding Lucky's shoulder. Lucky shook his head, a small smile twisting his lips.

"You known, you sure swear a lot for a priest," Lucky said. Fr. Bob just laughed.

"Come on, you mongrel, lets see if I can't get that wound taken care of," Fr. Bob said as he led Lucky towards the rectory.

"Mongrel?" Lucky asked, incredulously.

"What? Too soon?" Fr. Bob laughed again. Lucky smiled. The man's good humor was contagious.

By the time the pair exited the cathedral through the back door and crossed a short walkway to the rectory building, Lucky was feeling decidedly light-headed. The shift from dog to human always took a little bit out of him, and today he didn't have much energy to begin with. He stumbled a bit when his feet scuffed the edge of the rectory doorframe.

"Whoa. Steady there. Let's get you inside. Come on," Fr. Bob shifted his grip from a guiding hand to a helping shoulder and nearly lifted Lucky off the ground in his exuberance to get the wounded man through the door.

"Ah, ah! Okay, Father, ah," Lucky grunted in pain, "slowly please, slowly," and Fr. Bob loosened his grip accordingly.

Lucky and Fr. Bob shambled together through the entryway and into the small reception area that preceded the priest's living quarters. The secretary who ran the front desk gasped as Fr. Bob and Lucky stumbled in. Lucky didn't blame her. He probably looked terrible. The jeans fit, but they weren't in the best shape. He hadn't shaved in days, and his wound was starting to seep through too short t-shirt that was currently showing off his midriff. His bare feet hurt like hell, especially in his human skin, and they were so dirty he was probably leaving tracks on the carpet. _Bad dog_ a snide voice in his head said and Lucky winced.

"Ooh, sorry," Fr. Bob said, thinking that Lucky's wince stemmed from the rough handling of his shoulder.

"Father Bob!" Screeched the secretary in a scandalized voice.

"Hello, Jody! Don't mind us, we're just headed to the kitchen," Fr. Bob replied, as though Lucky was not bleeding through his shirt, and the two of them were simply going to have lemonade.

It was a short hallway to the kitchen. Lucky could hear the secretary dialing the phone, but before he could say anything, Fr. Bob nonchalantly called over his shoulder, "Jody, I forbid you tell anyone about this!" and Lucky heard the receiver slam down followed by Jody mumbling angrily to herself.

"She seems like a real peach," Lucky said as he lowered himself into a wooden kitchen chair. Fr. Bob filled a pot with water and set it on the stove to boil. He fished out a dusty first-aid kit from under the sink that looked like it was straight from the 1950s.

"Jody has her moments," he said reproachfully.

Lucky had been to the church plenty of times, but he'd never been past the rectory desk. The kitchen was small but tidy and a small table was on one wall facing another hallway that presumably led to the bedrooms and bathroom. Lucky sat at the table and watched as Fr. Bob removed alcohol swabs, a needle, and suture thread from the aging first aid kit.

"Is all of that stuff still sterile? How old is that thing?" Lucky asked, apprehensive.

"Why do you think I boiled the water?" Fr. Bob said as he plunked the needle into the hot liquid. He pulled it back out again after a minute, fishing with long tweezers.

"Now, off with that shirt," he said, putting on medical gloves and threading the needle.

"Um. Have you ever even stitched someone up before? I'm not sure—"

"Ivan. I could have taken you to the hospital. Now take that shirt off. It's not even yours and you're bleeding all over it," Fr. Bob said.

"It's Lucky," Lucky retorted, but he took off the shirt. He didn't even want to think about going to a hospital. He hadn't been to a hospital in years and he definitely didn't want to go now that his DNA was most likely no longer human.

Lucky winced as Fr. Bob swiped the seeping hole in his shoulder with an alcohol pad. Fr. Bob looked at him with his eyebrows raised.

"What?" asked Lucky.

"I haven't even started stitching yet," Fr. Bob said with a smirk. Lucky ignored him as best as he could, but the man was aggravating a very painful area.

"So, why did you change your name?" Fr. Bob asked, trying to distract Lucky as he threaded the needle.

"That's the question you choose to ask me right now? Not, 'how did you get shot,' or 'why the fuck can you turn into a dog?'" Lucky shivered as the needle pierced his skin. The alcohol swab must have had some sort of anesthetic in it because the edges of the wound were numb now. He could feel the pressure of the needle and the pull of the suture string, but no pain. It was kind of freaking him out.

"Language, please! And yes, I thought that question would be somewhat appropriate, considering we are not completely _alone_." Fr. Bob said as he rolled his eyes in the direction of the suspiciously quiet, out of sight, out of mind, Judy.

"Shit!" Lucky hissed and Fr. Bob whacked him upside the head.

"Language!" he reprimanded, and continued without missing a beat, "So, why did you change your name?"

"I…Ivan doesn't suit me anymore," Lucky said softly. There was a snip of scissors and Lucky looked down at his surprisingly well-mended shoulder.

"There! Done! Looks pretty good, right?" Fr. Bob bounded up to grab a gauze covering and medical tape from the first aid kit. He knelt down again and situated the bandage over the freshly stitched wound, pressing it firmly in place. He kept his hand over Lucky's shoulder and looked up. Fr. Bob's bright blue eyes looked deep into Lucky's own dark chocolate ones and Lucky couldn't look away.

"People don't just change their names because it doesn't suit them anymore," he said softly, his eyes still searching, "Name changes happen for a reason, when something big happens in your life. Like when you get married."

Lucky felt guilt bubble in his stomach as he thought about Mandy and he wanted to look away, but the priest still held him captive in his piercing gaze.

"JODY!" Fr. Bob yelled, breaking eye contact and nearly startling Lucky into the next life, "You can go home now!"

An undignified squeak sounded from the hallway and the poor secretary gathered her things in about half a second before she scurried out the door of the rectory, letting it slam behind her.

"There," Fr. Bob said with a pleasant smile as he stood to clear away the first aid supplies, "Now, why the fuck can you turn into a dog?"


	4. Chapter 4

Lucky blinked and frowned.

"Hey," he said slowly, "you just told me to watch my langu—" Fr. Bob silenced him with a dismissive brush of the hand.

"That was when Jody was here. Have to keep up appearances, you know. Now, spit it out, before I end up wrangling it out of you. How can you turn into a dog? What happened to you, Lucky?"

Lucky relaxed a bit, gratified that Fr. Bob finally remembered to use his new name.

"What? Don't believe in miracles, Father?" Lucky asked, huffing slightly at his own joke. He stopped when he saw Fr. Bob looking at him, arms crossed with bored disapproval. Lucky cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Well, I guess I'll tell you the same thing that I told those two brothers. I was recruited by these people to become a, a skinwalker," Lucky paused, taking in Fr. Bob's reaction, but he didn't move in the slightest, "That's what those brother's called me, a skinwalker. I can change whenever I want to, you know, back and forth, dog or man."

Lucky gulped as Fr. Bob stared intently at him through his thick glasses that seemed to brighten his eyes instead of dulling them like glasses normally would.

"Um, could I get a glass of water or something?" Lucky asked.

Fr. Bob grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with tap water. He walked over to the table, grabbed the chair next to Lucky, sat down, and slid the glass of water across the smooth wood. Lucky caught the glass before it flew off the edge and shook his hand clean of the water that sloshed over the rim.

"Continue," Fr. Bob ordered. Lucky took a large swig of water.

"R-Right. Ok. So, they recruited me and a bunch of others to go into families and wait for the order. We had to wait and then, when the order came, the group of us, our pack, we were supposed to bite our families and turn them into…us. Skinwalkers. But, but I could never! Mandy and Aiden, I wouldn't do that to them!" Lucky's voice hitched and he put the glass of water back on the table.

"Mandy and Aiden took me in," Lucky looked up at Fr. Bob, sorrow in his eyes, "You know how I was before. Well, it got worse. I was living on the streets; I'd fallen off the wagon. No one looks at you when you're like that. It's like you're not even human. So, I thought becoming a dog was the best thing that ever happened to me, Father," Lucky's voice grew softer until he was whispering, "But I was wrong. That family was the best thing to ever happen to me. I would never hurt them."

Lucky looked down at the table and closed his eyes, trying to stifle the sob that he could feel at the bottom of his throat. He felt one of Fr. Bob's hands cover his own in a comforting grip and he looked up, startled.

"Then what happed?" asked the priest. Lucky glanced away, recalling the events, and grimaced shamefully.

"I…I wanted to protect them. But Mandy, she doesn't know how good she is! She kept putting herself in danger by dating these terrible men. She deserves someone better! And she doesn't even realize it… I had to protect them! I…" Lucky flinched and pulled his hand out of Fr. Bob's grasp, his voice barely audible, "I got rid of the threats…by eating their hearts."

Fr. Bob nodded slowly and did the sign of the cross, before leaning back and gesturing for Lucky to continue.

"I thought I covered my tracks, but these two brothers caught wind of my…murders. They found me," Lucky shuddered as he remembered the feeling of the burning silver rope against his skin and the knife that the taller brother was about to use to torture him. Fortunately, it hadn't come to that.

"They wanted to know about the others, the one's that recruited me, and this thing called an Alpha. I didn't know about most of it, but they said if I helped them stop my pack, I wouldn't have to turn on my family," Lucky fidgeted and took another sip of water.

"I tried to help them, I really did, but somehow the pack found out. The pack took Mandy and Aiden. We all went into a warehouse and they were going to make me turn my family," the sob that Lucky was holding back escaped and he choked, "I couldn't do it! I wouldn't have! But then there were bullets flying everywhere and I had to get Mandy and Aiden to safety."

Lucky's hands were wringing around each other now, and he spoke nervously as he recalled the events.

"Mandy, she didn't recognize me as a human, of course. She was afraid of me. I had to lock them both in a room. And then Jax was there, and he's so much bigger than I am. I turned into a dog to fight him, but I shouldn't have! He's the one who shot me! And Mandy saw me; she saw me turn," Lucky took a shuddering breath before continuing, "Somehow those two brothers took everyone out. The taller one, Sam, was going to finish me off, but I escaped before he did…That…that was two days ago."

Lucky stopped talking and stared at his feet. Fr. Bob shifted forward and suddenly Lucky felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up and Fr. Bob brought his chair closer so that they were sitting only inches apart.

"I'm glad you survived," Fr. Bob said softly, and Lucky's composure shattered as tears began to stream from his eyes. Exhaustion won over and he slumped forward, leaning his head into Fr. Bob's shoulder, fingers grasping tightly at the dark fabric of the priest's shirt. Lucky felt Fr. Bob's hand stroking the top of his head in a comforting gesture and all he could think of was how Aiden's little fingers used to run through his fur.


End file.
